The Abombinable Doc Brown
by Flaming Trails
Summary: This is what happens when I read too many Marty deathfics. Doc goes psycho after Marty's death.
1. The Accident

The Abominable Doc Brown

By Flaming Trails

A Back To The Future: Trilogy Story

Disclaimer: I don't own the BTTF trilogy. If I did -- Well, Clara would look VERY different. . . ;)

Note: This is a story based on the full BTTF Trilogy. A quick explanation -- Doc and company moved back to Hill Valley officially in 1986, although they picked out a house in 1985. They've been in the future again for about 5 months when this story takes place. 

  


Chapter 1

Sunday, July 6th, 1986

Hill Valley

1: 10 P. M.

Clara stood hands planted firmly on hips, glaring at the young man in front of her. "Listen, Martin Seamus McFly, those are _my_ children. _I_ gave them life. Therefore, if _I_ say something concerning the way you play with them, I believe that _you_ should respect it!"

"Sure, but I think you're making a big deal over nothing! When have your kids ever gotten hurt playing with me?"

"Well, it's a distinct possibility, the way you act sometimes! You do dangerous things on your skateboard, you watch scary and bloody movies, you have a volatile temper--"

"Hey!"

"Well, it's true! You get angry at the slightest provocation, Marty."

"Not at Jules and Verne. I've learned my lesson about my temper. And I never do that other stuff around your kids. Do you really think I'd put your kids in danger after _I've_ been through?"

"If you continue to rough-housing with them like you do, yes!"

"They're boys! _Who spent the first years of their life in the Old West!_ A little rough-housing ain't gonna kill them, Clara!"

"You're not careful enough around them! This is a new time for them, and they could get hurt! Until we find out more about this place, no rough-housing! End of story!" She folded her arms stubbornly. Marty opened his mouth to make another point. "END OF STORY."

Marty glared at her, steamed. "Perfect," he spat out. "Just _perfect_." He turned and started up the stairs. Halfway up, he paused and looked back. "But you know what? Sometimes I wished you had stayed in the Old West."

"Sometimes I wish that too. In fact, sometimes I wish I never had to see you again," Clara said venomously. Marty just snarled, then stalked up the rest of the steps and slammed the door.

Clara shoved some clothes into the washer. _That kid,_ she thought, her face red with anger. _Doesn't he understand I just want to keep my children safe? We've only been here four months. I don't want Jules or Verne to fall prey to a danger they never encountered back in the 1880s and 1890s. We're still not totally used to this time. But, stubborn jerk that he is, he doesn't understand that! He just struts around like there's nothing to worry about!_

She stared at the trembling washing machine for a few moments as dark thoughts passed through her head about the teen. After a few minutes, though, she started to feel a little bit of regret over the fight. _Well, how could he understand? He was born and raised in _this _century. He doesn't see anything to worry about. He's used to it all._

_But why does he always have to be so _stubborn_?! This would be so much easier if he could see things from my point of view._ She sighed and leaned on the washer. _I'll let him cool off, then try to explain my side. I'm sick of all this fighting. Marty really is a nice kid. Too darn stubborn, but nice._

Sunday, July 6th

1: 13 P. M.

Marty stormed into the kitchen of Doc's new house. _What is Clara's problem? She acts like she can't trust _anybody_ from the twentieth century, least of all me! I mean, the first couple of months were great. I got to know Doc's family. But lately all we do is fight. I try to understand her, but sometimes I just get sick and tired of her._

Doc was in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. A glass of milk sat beside his plate, filled to the brim. He glanced up as Marty stomped in. "Not another fight," he sighed.

Marty nodded, leaning heavily on the stone-topped counters. "That Clara really gets on my nerves sometimes, Doc. You know what she just accused me of? Playing too rough with Jules and Verne."

"Well, Marty, sometimes you do seem a little rough with them," Doc admitted, laying a few slices of ham on his bread.

Marty's anger transferred from Clara to Doc. "Damn it, Doc, you always take _her_ side! No matter what, Clara has to be right! Especially when it comes to me! You don't give a shit about my feelings anymore!"

Doc turned and looked at him steadily. "That's not true. I care very much about how you feel. I thought my behavior concerning you when I arrived home would convince you of that. But Clara is my wife, and unused to this century. I care about her feelings as well." Marty sulked, his face dark. "I think the problem is that you're coming at these problems from two radically different viewpoints. Clara's lived the majority of her life in a world without many of the technological advances you and I are used to. Everything is new and strange. Of course she's going to be afraid. It's the same for Jules and Verne, although not as severely." He patted Marty on the shoulder. "I know it's not sinking in now, but when you cool off, I'm sure you'll understand. Deep down, you like Clara and she likes you."

Marty shrugged. "I try to understand where she's coming from, but -- She's annoying, Doc. I hate to say that, but she knows exactly how to push my buttons."

"You're in a transitional phase. It's normal to feel that way." Doc sighed, his face relaxing into mild sadness. "It hurts me to see you two fight. I want my wife and my best friend to be friends. Either tomorrow or the next day I think we'll have some sort of mediation period. I'll listen to both your concerns and try to think of a satisfactory solution. All right?"

"I just gotta do something!" Marty said, not having heard a word Doc had said. "Get it out of my system." He looked at Doc, then abruptly gave him a shove. Not a hard shove, but a shove nonetheless. "Come on, let's duke it out! You and me!"

Doc was astonished. "You want to have a fight???"

"Not really a fight. Just shove each other around a little. We can't hurt each other if we don't shove hard. Come on, you chicken, Doc? Afraid _Clara_ won't let you?" Marty goaded him.

Annoyed, Doc accepted Marty's challenge by shoving him back. _If it makes him feel better, what the hell._ They continued shoving each other, trading a few weak insults and challenges. One of Marty's shoves managed to jar Doc's arm against the glass. It tipped over and spilt its contents all over the floor. In the heat of their battle, neither noticed.

After a few minutes of moderately hard shoving, Marty felt a little better. "I'm heading out," he told Doc, giving him one final shove. He turned on his heel and prepared to leave.

Doc, however, wanted to get in the last word. "Just remember what I told you, Futureboy," he said, giving his best friend a shove toward the exit.

And into the milk puddle.

Sunday, July 6th

1: 19 P. M.

Clara was preparing to load the clothes into the dryer when she heard the scream. Startled, she dropped the laundry and dashed upstairs. "Emmett? Marty?" she called, running from room to room. "What's going on? What happened?!"

The scream continued, gaining an inhuman quality in it's length. Clara felt a chill run up her spine. _Where is it coming from?_ "Emmett? Is that you?"

She finally tracked the scream to its source, the kitchen. "What in the name of--"

Her voice died as she walked in. Doc was pressing himself back against the cabinets on one side of the narrow room, hands clenched, eyes wide with horror. The scream was issuing from his throat. Across from him was Marty. The teen was slumped against the other row of cabinets, his head bent at an odd angle. A pool of blood was slowly spreading out from the base of his skull.

Clara screamed too, clutching her dress collar to her face. "EMMETT! Oh, God! How did it happen?! My God, Marty. . . ."

Doc turned haunted eyes on her, the scream finally being choked off by violent sobs. "He -- he slipped. We got into an argument and he slipped. . . . Call a doctor, Clara." He collapsed onto the floor and curled up into a ball, tears streaming from his eyes.

Clara gaped at the scene for a moment more, then flew to the nearest phone. She struggled with it for a few moments, but managed to dial 911. "Help! There's been an accident at my house! A friend of ours tripped and hit his head. There's blood everywhere. You've got to send help immediately! Please, you have to help us."

The woman on the other end tried to calm her down. "There's an ambulance ready to go if you'll just give me your name and address."

"Mrs. Clara Brown, 1233 Zemeckis Road," Clara sobbed. She could still hear her husband's scream, echoing in her head. "Please, God, don't let him die," she prayed, the first of many tears tricking down her cheeks. "I didn't mean it."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Brown?"

Clara didn't hear. "_I didn't mean it._"


	2. The Voice of the Dead

Chapter 2

Friday, July 11th, 1986

Hill Valley

2: 14 P. M.

"We are gathered here today, to wish a young soul Godspeed. . . ."

Doc clutched Clara's arm tightly. His mind was reeling. How could this be happening? Marty was approximately 47 years his junior. Their roles should be reversed. Marty should be standing where he was, and he should be in the coffin. It just wasn't right.

"During his brief time on earth, he brightened the lives of many people. He was a good, kind person. . . ."

Clara dabbed at her eyes with a hanky, trying to be strong for her husband. Inside, she was dying. All she could think about were the last words she'd spoken to Marty. _Sometimes I wish I never had to see you again._ Well, she'd gotten her wish -- in the worst possible way.

"Heaven will provide the perfect stage for his music. . . ."

_I killed my best friend._

Doc felt his legs going weak. _I'm responsible for Marty being in that coffin. I was the one who shoved him into that puddle. Made him slip. Made him crack his head on the counter. Killed him._

He bit his lip. The guilt pressed down on him, making him want to shriek. He wanted to run up to the coffin and beg Marty for forgiveness. He wanted to kill himself and be buried with Marty.

He didn't know it, but he was losing his mind.

"All who knew him shall cherish the short time they had together. . . ."

The argument seemed so stupid now. So what if Marty played a little roughly with Jules and Verne? He had played with them. He had been kind to them. He had been kind to her when she had first arrived in 1985. He had tried to be friends.

And she had repaid him with countless hours of fighting. Clara closed her eyes and hung her head. "I wish we could fight again," she murmured. "Anything would be better than this."

The elegy ended with the coffin being gently lowered into the ground. Marty's grieving family each stepped forward and threw in a handful of dirt, whispering their goodbyes. A red-eyed Lorraine turned to the Browns and Parkers. "Would any of you like to. . . ."

Jennifer promptly picked up a handful of dirt. "I'll miss you so much, Marty," she wept, throwing it in. Unable to say any more, she turned and buried her face in her father's chest.

Jules and Verne advanced and tossed in little scoops. "Come visit us from Heaven," Jules said, the six-year-old unusually solemn. Verne nodded, his four-year-old face deadly serious. Clara dabbed at her eyes again.

Doc gave her a gentle nudge. "I want to go last," he whispered.

Clara nodded and picked up a good handful of dirt. She moved to the side of the grave. "I'm so sorry our last time together was unhappy," she said, sniffling. "I really did like you, Marty." She blew her nose and dropped in her dirt. "I'm so sorry."

Doc stepped to the graveside. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he said in an unusually high voice. He coughed and continued in a more normal tone. "I owe you everything, Marty. I love you like a son." He sifted his dirt into the grave, agony tearing his heart in half as he did so.

The grave was filled in as the mourners slowly began to scatter. The McFlys huddled together for support as they moved away. Jennifer went up to Doc, tears shining in her eyes. "Bring him back," she pleaded. "At least try to bring him back." Overcome, she dashed back to her father's waiting arms.

Doc looked at Clara. "I don't know--" He couldn't continue. "I'm sorry, Clara, I need some time alone."

"Of course, honey. Jules, Verne, come with Mama." She led her children away, glancing back briefly at Doc. He was standing by the grave, tears running down his face. _My poor Emmett._

Doc stayed by the graveside until he was sure he was alone. Then he knelt on the freshly-turned earth and wept unabashedly. "Marty -- Marty, forgive me. I'm so sorry. I'm in hell, knowing I'm the cause of all this. I swear, it was an accident. . . ." He buried his face in his hands.

_Sure it was._

Doc's head jerked up. "Marty?" he whispered.

_You gotta lot of nerve, lying to me like that. If it was an accident, how come I'm six feet under?_

The last of Doc's sanity slipped away unnoticed. Talking to Marty's disembodied voice suddenly seemed quite normal. "It _was _an accident," he argued. "I never meant for you to die."

_Yeah, right. I guess the first part _was_ an accident. But was it an accident to marry that bitch?_

Doc blinked. "I -- I don't understand. . . ."

_If I hadn't had that fucking argument with Clara bitch, I would have never ended up dead! _She's_ the one who deserves to be dead, you bastard! Not me!_

"Don't be angry at me, Marty, don't be angry," Doc groveled. "I didn't know--"

_Shut up and listen. _Doc nodded eagerly. _I want revenge._

"Okay," Doc said. "Will that make you happy again, Marty?" He pulled himself closer to the tombstone, looking for all the world like Renfield cowering before Dracula. "Will that make you love me again?"

_It'll help. She made me suffer. She made me die. I want the same to happen to her. And those two brats._

"Did Jules and Verne hurt you? I promise I'll punish them."

_Do more than punish them. Kill them._

"Whatever you say, Marty," Doc nodded, his eyes lit up with an insane light. "I never knew they were so cruel." His face darkened, became enraged. "They'll pay for what they did to you, Marty. They'll pay. I'll make them scream for what they did to you. They'll die in agony for making me hurt you."

_Good._ Marty's voice already sounded happier. _Glad to see you still have some sense left, Doc. Don't disappoint me._

"Never, Marty. I love you. I always loved you. Even while I was making those terrible, terrible mistakes, I loved you."

_And you're going to fix those mistakes soon, right?_

"Of course! I don't know how, yet. . . ."

The voice's tone grew dark. _You'd better think of something. I don't want them alive for long._

"Oh no, no worries, Marty," Doc rushed to appease him. "I'll make sure they're suffering in the meantime. They won't get away with this. With your instruction to guide me, they can't."

Clara's voice interrupted. "Emmett?" she said, walking up behind them.

Doc's fists clenched, his face darkening again. "Go away," he growled. Her very presence inflamed his new hatred of her. "I want to be alone."

Clara stepped back, startled by her husband's rough tone. "Okay," she said unsteadily. "The kids want to go home, though. They don't like being in the graveyard."

"Then take them home," Doc told her, a sarcastic note in his voice. "I'll come along later. Now leave."

"You want us to hire a cab."

"Whatever. GO!"

Clara quickly left, wondering what on earth had come over Doc. _Must be grief,_ she decided as she collected Jules and Verne. _He's so upset he doesn't hear himself. I guess the only thing to do is ride it out._ "We're going home, kids."

"Where's Papa?" asked Jules, puzzled.

"He wants to stay here for a little while."

Back at the grave, Doc lay his head against Marty's tombstone. "Was that okay?" he inquired, his manner completely servile. "For a start, at least?"

_You can do better. I want them dead within a week._

"Of course, Marty. Of course."


	3. The Rage and the Regret

Chapter 3

Sunday, July 13th, 1986

Hill Valley

12: 03 P. M.

Clara dunked her hands into the warm water and began automatically scrubbing a plate. Her mind, though, wasn't thinking of plates at all. It was focused on Doc. Ever since Marty's funeral, her husband had been acting strangely. He was extremely cold and distant, especially to her and the children. He'd sneer at them and make nasty comments. Jules and Verne were afraid to misbehave in his presence, as he roared at them for the slightest infraction. He refused to spend any more time with them than was absolutely necessary, to the point of sleeping on the couch. Practically every spare moment was spent in the garage or at the cemetery.

She slid a dish into place on the rack. She didn't like what her husband was turning into. Not at all. Even his physical appearance had changed. His brown eyes, once so loving and vivid, now shone with a frightening light. If he looked at her too long, she had to turn away. She had once heard that the eyes were the windows to the soul. It unnerved her to think Doc's soul might be as twisted as his eyes.

_Still, he _is_ my husband,_ she thought, finishing another dish. _And he's going through a very tough time in his life. I wish I could reach out to him, so I could understand why he's acting like this, though. If only I could tell him how much I'm hurting too. . . ._

She felt a tug on her dress. Clara looked down to see Jules standing by her side. "Mama, what's the number for Heaven?"

"Why do you want to call Heaven, honey?"

Verne came in, holding the phone. "We wanna call Marty. So Papa will be happy again."

Tears welled up in Clara's eyes. "Boys, Marty can't answer the phone from Heaven."

"Do we call God and ask him to get Marty?"

Clara paused for a moment to get a handle on her emotions. Then she crouched down and motioned them closer so she could hug them. "Jules, Verne, Marty can't come back. When you die, you go to Heaven forever."

"But we miss him," Jules complained.

"So do I, honey." Clara felt a surge of guilt as the fight forced itself back into her mind. "I miss him very much. But missing him won't make him come back."

"I think Papa thinks it will," Verne said, hugging back. "He talks to Marty all the time. I hear him. So does Jules." His older brother nodded.

"He's just very sad Marty's gone. He'll be happy again one day, you'll see." She straightened up and looked at the plate still left on the table. "I was sure he'd join us for lunch," she murmured. "Jules, honey, would you take your father his lunch? I don't want him to be both sad and hungry."

"Okay, Mama," Jules said reluctantly. "But I don't want him to yell at me again."

"He won't yell at you for feeding him, I'm sure."

Jules nodded, reassured. He grabbed the plate and headed to the garage.

Sunday, July 13th

12: 05 P. M.

Doc was seated at his desk, scribbling in a notebook and mumbling to himself. "I need something very painful to make Marty happy," he muttered. "Now what's painful?"

_No results. Is the cold shoulder the best you can do, you moron?_

Doc cringed. "I'm sorry, Marty. I'll try to do better. I promise."

_Promises, promises. I want to see them in pain, and you don't come through. You act like they didn't do something horrible to me._

"No! I know that they're terrible people who deserve to die! I know how cruel they were to you!"

_Then prove it! Act like it!_

Doc was about to reply when there was a knock at the door. "I have your lunch, Papa," Jules said in a small voice, poking his head in.

Doc felt an influx of rage. "I am _working_," he hissed, tensing noticeably. "You shouldn't disturb me like this."

"Sorry," Jules said quickly, setting the sandwich down on a nearby table. "You workin' on bringing Marty back?" he asked, preparing for a speedy getaway if his father flew into a rage again. "I wanna see him again."

Doc turned and stared at Jules for a moment. The anger inside him began to build. He hated the little child in front of him for being alive when Marty was not. How _dare_ he ask about the kid he had helped take away from him? _How dare he?_

Suddenly, he was seized by the urge to act out his rage. He leapt up and ran for the child. Jules quickly turned tail and fled, but Doc caught up with him before he had made it halfway up the path back to the house. Grabbing him roughly and spinning him around, Doc struck him across the face. His son let out a howl of shock and pain. "Shut up!" Doc roared, shaking him hard. "You little brat!" 

Clara and Verne, hearing Jules's scream, came running. "Emmett, what's going on?" she asked, staring in astonishment at the scene.

Doc practically threw Jules at her. "Take this little piece of shit and get out of my sight. I have more important things to do than look at you disgusting things all day."__

Jules clung to Clara's legs, crying loudly. A dark, nasty-looking bruise was forming across his mouth. Clara tried to comfort him. "Aww, my poor baby. . . ."

Jules pointed at Doc, shaking. "He hit me!"

Clara blinked, then looked at Doc strangely. "Is that true, Emmett?"

Doc just stared at her coldly. That was all the answer Clara needed. She glared at him, her shock turning into anger. "What reason would you need to assault your own son?! I can't believe you!"

"Will you go already? Or do I have to hit you too?" Doc snapped, raising his hand threateningly. "Don't think I won't."

Clara gathered up Jules and took Verne's hand. "Until you apologize and promise never to harm these children again, you are no longer welcome in this house! I'll keep you out by force if necessary! Now get out!"

"Gladly," Doc said, his voice dead cold. "I'm sick of you anyway, you lying, traitorous bitch! You won't get away with what you did." He stormed into the garage and slammed the door.

Clara hurried the children back into the house. Jules nuzzled her neck, still sobbing. "What'd he do with Papa?" he demanded, almost unintelligibly.

"Excuse me, honey?"

"That man ain't Papa. Papa would never hit me. What did he do with Papa?"

"Yeah, Mama, where's Papa?" Verne agreed, eyes wide with fright.

Clara grabbed a washcloth from the sink and wet it. "I don't know. But I'll keep you safe, don't worry." She gently began tending his bruise.

Sunday, July 13th__

9: 16 P. M.

Clara stared out the window at the lights in the garage. Doc was still in there, doing who knows what. She felt a chill go up her spine as she remembered what had happened earlier that day. She could hardly believe that the same man who had rescued her from certain death at Clayton Ravine had hit his own child. Doc abhorred violence! What had happened inside to make him so cruel?

She lifted herself off the windowsill and headed for the kitchen. Jules and Verne had been very disturbed by the incident. They refused to go out and play in the yard, afraid that Doc would come after them again. In fact, Jules had refused to leave her side until bedtime -- and then he had asked her to stay until he fell asleep. She had been only too happy to comply.

Searching through the cupboards, she found what she needed -- a large heavy skillet. She wanted to talk to her husband, but she didn't want to do it unprotected. If he made so much as one move to hurt her or to get back in the house, she'd whack him one. She hid it behind her back and cautiously made her way down to the garage.

Doc was just backing the van out. He saw Clara and rolled down the window. "Yes?" he said, coldly polite.

"I just wanted to know what on earth has gotten into you lately," Clara said carefully, running her finger up and down the skillet handle.

"Marty's death is what's gotten into me," he snapped. "I lost my best friend, if you haven't noticed."

Clara felt herself soften a little. "I know, Emmett. It's hard for me too. The last words I ever said to him were 'I wish I never had to see you again.'" Doc's eyes went wide in shock. "It hurts so much that I will never see him again. I wish so much that I could take it all back. I never wanted him to die."

Doc just stared at her for a moment. Then he gunned the motor. "I have to get out of here. Being around you just makes the fucking pain stronger. Tell Jules that he doesn't have to worry anymore." With that, he rocketed down the driveway.

Clara watched him go. _It's for the best,_ she thought to herself. _Once he recovers from his grief, he'll be my beloved Emmett again. I just hope Jules and Verne are willing to let him back into their lives. _

On the road, Doc gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. _She told him she wished he would die. I can't believe that bitch._

_I also can't believe I fulfilled that bitch's wish._

As he wiped the sweat from his eyes, he heard Marty's voice. _I knew you loved her more. You wanted me dead, didn't you? _

"No!" Doc yelled. "It wasn't my fault! IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" He swung the car over to the side of the road and stopped, beginning to sob. "It wasn't my fault. . . ."

He kept repeating it to himself over and over, refusing to believe that the blame could lay with him for Marty's death. "Not my fault. Her fault. Not my fault. Her fault."

_If you really believe that, do something about it._

"I will, Marty. I will."


	4. The Discovery of Clara

Chapter 4

Thursday, July 17th, 1986

Hill Valley

10: 23 A. M.

_Well, this is it._

Clara stared nervously at the gates of Oak Park Cemetery, twisting her hands together. Doc was behind them, visiting Marty's grave again. She had followed him discreetly in a cab, hoping to get some answers to her nagging questions. Mainly how any amount of grief cause Doc to behave like he had.

After Doc had taken off, Clara had hoped that life would be better at home. But somehow her husband's invisible presence had permeated the house, keeping them all on edge. Jules and Verne were always on the lookout for Doc, sticking close to the house. Whenever they went out, they held hands. Clara found that she jumped at every little noise and was more irritable.

Occasionally they had seen Doc in the street. He never failed to give them a look that suggested he thought of them as less than the scum on his shoes. Clara had also found out that he had started spreading some very nasty rumors about them. Luckily, no one believed them because Doc was spreading them. It still hurt, though.

She slipped past the gates and went searching for Marty's grave. _Hopefully once I hear him talking to Marty, a few things will be cleared up._

The grave wasn't too hard to find. Doc was kneeling on it, talking to the base of the tombstone. Very carefully, she crept closer to listen.

"Is that all right, Marty?" Doc was asking. "Will you love me again if I do that?" He paused, listening to a reply that only he could hear. "Trust me, Marty, they'll suffer. Tonight, after supper, I'll surprise them at the house. I'll force my way in. And, once I have them trapped, I'll slit their throats," he whispered intently, drawing a large knife from his pocket. "So the hot blood courses all over their clothes. It'll be fun to see them twitch, won't it?"

Clara turned dead white. A scream rose in her throat, which she barely choked down. Her Emmett wasn't in mourning at all.

Her Emmett was insane.

Doc cocked his head. "Would you prefer me to stab them, Marty? I'll do whatever you want me to do." Another pause, briefer this time. "Slitting their throats is good. Oh, I'm so happy, Marty." He hugged the tombstone. "They'll be dead, and you won't have to be mad at me anymore."

Filled with revulsion, Clara backed away. Her foot descended on a large dry branch, snapping it in two. Doc's head jerked up. "Who's there?" he demanded, his fingers tightening on the knife's handle. 

Clara froze, trying not even to breathe. Doc stood up slowly, looking around. His eyes fell on Clara almost immediately. "You," he hissed, his face turning red. "Guess one of them's going to die early, Marty." He lunged at her.

Clara scrambled to her feet and bolted. Doc got a mouthful of dirt, but quickly recovered and gave chase. "You can't get away, you bitch! I'll have your blood if it's the last thing I do!"

Thanks to Doc's untimely trip, Clara got to the gates first. She stopped for a second to catch her breath, wondering what on earth she was going to do. Her eyes fell on Doc's van. Before she really knew what she was doing, she had leapt in. The scientist obviously hadn't expected to stay here long -- the keys were still in the ignition. Summoning up memories of watching her husband drive and of the few lessons he had given her, she managed to start the engine and pull out.

Doc arrived just as she was leaving. He cursed loudly and turned his knife on a nearby tree. He partly regained his presence of mind when the knife became stuck in the trunk. He pulled it free with an effort. A stream of sap began to ooze from the "wound." Doc smiled at it. "I hope her blood flows just like that." Hiding the knife in his pocket again, he started looking for a payphone so he could call a cab.

Thursday, July 17th

10: 42 A. M.

Clara managed to get both herself and the van home in one piece. Shaking, she ran into the house. "Jules! Verne! Come quick!"

The two kids immediately appeared before her. "Mama? What's the matter?" Verne asked, staring at her pale face.

"We have to get out of here right away," she said, pulling them close. "You were right, Jules. That man _isn't_ your father."

"Told you so."

"Yes, honey, I know. And now we have to leave before he finds us. He's a very bad man." She held them tight, beginning to cry. "Oh, my babies. . . ."

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Clara froze, clutching the boys to her chest. Could it be. . . ?

"Hello? Doc? Clara?"

Clara sighed in relief. Picking up Jules and Verne by the waist, she answered the door. "Lorraine, I am _so_ happy to see you!"

Lorraine stared at Clara's face just like Verne had. "Clara, what's the matter? You look scared half to death!"

"It's Emmett." She put the kids down and leaned in closer so they wouldn't hear. "He's lost his mind, Lorraine. He's already slapped Jules, and now he's -- he wants to kill us, Lorraine! I caught him making the plans! It was a miracle I was able to outrun him. . . ."

Lorraine was open-mouthed. "Oh my God, you poor thing. I thought he was acting pretty strangely, but I had no idea that--" Her eyes filled with tears. "It's Marty, isn't it? He couldn't take the death."

"I'm sorry, Lorraine." The two women hugged. "Please, could you take Jules and Verne and hide them? I don't care so much about myself, but I'd hate to think I left my babies in danger." Her eyes were desperately pleading. "Please, Lorraine, I'm so frightened. . . ."

"Of course I'll take them, Clara. In fact, I can give them to George. He's going to Grass Valley in about a half-hour to talk to a bookstore owner about a signing. I'll have him take them along."

"Oh, thank you," Clara wept, managing the shadow of a smile. "Thank you so much." Wiping her eyes, she pushed her boys forward. "You two have to go with Lorraine now."

"I wanna stay with you," Verne protested, clinging to her legs.

"You can't, honey. Mama has to go get help so that bad man won't get us. You'll be safe with Lorraine."

Lorraine nodded, smiling. "Come on, kids. You want to go on a trip? George is going to a new town, and I bet he'll want company."

Reluctantly, Jules and Verne went over to Lorraine. "Be safe, Mama!" Jules told Clara.

Clara forced another shadowy smile. "Don't worry, Jules. Everything's going to be fine." _I wish so much I could believe that myself._

Lorraine patted them both on the head, then leaned close to Clara. "Listen, once you talk to the police, come over to our place. I don't want you to have to stay anywhere alone."

"Okay. Thanks so much, Lorraine." She kissed her boys goodbye and watched as Lorraine led them to the car. "Be safe," she whispered after them. Then she locked up and made her way back to the garage. She planned to drive to the police station, so Doc couldn't get his hands on it and chase them. Steeling herself, she got back in the van.

Thursday, July 17th

10: 53 A. M.

Doc opened the door of the house, smiling. "Clara, dear? Jules? Verne? Daddy's home!" He casually strolled inside, looking in all the rooms. "Come on out, wherever you are. . . . Playing hide and seek with me? Okay, let's see how fast I can find you."

There was a whine from the bedroom, and Einstein padded out. Doc's smile grew brighter. "Einstein. Here, boy. Come here, Einy." He knelt down, held out his hands, and whistled. "Here, boy."

Einstein approached cautiously. He knew something wasn't right about his master. He paused just out of reach and gave a soft growl.

Doc acted hurt. "Einy, I'm your master! Don't you trust me? Come on, give me a kiss."

The dog finally drew closer. Doc patted his head, then looped his arm around Einstein's neck in a friendly manner. "Aww, there's a good boy," he praised, his other hand dipping into his pocket. "Such a good boy."

Einstein sensed what was about to happen just a split-second too late. Doc's knife slashed quickly across his throat, letting out a thick gush of blood. Doc pulled the twitching body onto his lap. He slammed the knife into Einstein's heart and twisted it. Slowly, the twitching stopped.

Doc dumped Einstein's body on the floor. "Sorry boy," he shrugged, not showing a bit of remorse. "I had to test my technique."

As he looked in the bedroom for his family, he heard the front door open again. "Hello? Anybody home?"

"Clara? Doc? Ya in?"

Doc frowned. _That's Dave and Linda. Now what on earth would they want with Clara?_ Puzzled, he put the bloody knife away and went to greet his guests. "Hello Dave, hello Linda."

"Hi--" Dave's eyes bugged out as he caught sight of Doc. "Doc! What the hell happened to you?"

Doc stared at him, not comprehending. "What are you talking about?"

"Um -- you're all covered in blood," Linda pointed out, her face slightly green. "Are you hurt?"

"You could say that." Doc moved a step closer. "Why are you looking for Clara?"

The siblings glanced at each other. "We just were wondering if anybody was home," Linda said. "I think a doctor oughta see you. Bring your car around, Dave."

"The blood has nothing to do with my hurt." Doc's eyes narrowed suddenly in suspicion. "Why would you say Clara's name first? Why? Answer quick."

Linda backed up a little, feeling nervous. _What's up with Doc? Something about him's really freaking me out._

Dave was apparently feeling the same way. "We -- we just did. We kinda wanted to talk to you about Marty, and we knew she'd been feeling bad lately. We wanted to help her."

Doc's face darkened with rage. "I don't believe this. Marty's own family. The McFlys would betray their own son. Lorraine and George want to help Clara, don't they? Keep her away from me so I can't get my revenge. Don't they?" He snarled menacingly.

Dave and Linda pressed against each other in the corner. "Mom didn't tell us," Dave said, shaking. "We honestly thought it would be good for everybody if we talked. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"The McFlys would betray their own son," Doc repeated. He looked up at the ceiling. "Did you hear that, Marty? Disgusting, isn't it." The siblings exchanged glances again, then attempted to sneak to the door. "I know. My thoughts exactly," Doc continued, yanking out the butcher knife.

Both Dave and Linda froze in shock when they saw the bloody knife. For Dave, the hesitation proved fatal. Doc lunged, plunging the knife into him again and again. "Die, you traitorous bastard! Die!!" Doc screamed, blood splattering all over him.

Linda was fixed to the spot, watching the blood fly. She knew she should be running, but she couldn't. "DAVID!" she shrieked, horrified. Desperate, she threw herself on Doc, hoping to knock him down or otherwise distract him.

She distracted him all right. Doc stabbed her in the stomach and threw her away. Crying, she started crawling to the door.

Doc finished Dave like he had Einstein, leaving him a bloody and gory mess. With a terrifying calmness, he got up and pulled Linda back inside the house. She screamed and clung to the doorframe for dear life. But Doc's strength, a mixture of years of black-smithing and madness, prevailed. He dragged Linda back to meet her fate.

Thursday, July 17th

11: 04 A. M.

Clara walked disgustedly back to the van. The police had been no help at all. When she had told them her husband was mad, they had just laughed and congratulated her on finally figuring that out. All subsequent attempts to make them believe her had ended in jokes. Upset and under a lot of stress, she collapsed into the front seat and began to cry.

After about a minute, she banished her tears. _No time for these now,_ she told herself firmly. _I have to get help. I have to hide._

She thought about the McFlys. Lorraine had taken her children in. And she had also said that she would take her in as well. _I'm so lucky to have a friend like that. I'll be safe there, at least. And they'll understand about Emmett. _Feeling a bit safer, she started up the van. To tell the truth, she was beginning to enjoy driving.

As she pulled into Lyons Estates, she suddenly got the feeling something was wrong. The neighborhood looked the same as usual, but she couldn't shake the notion she was in danger. The feeling only intensified as she reached the McFly house. _What on earth is wrong with me? Why do I feel so afraid?_

Then she noticed the front door was open. That could be explained by the hot weather, but it made Clara uneasy. _It's the only place I can go,_ she reminded herself, getting out of the van and walking in. _Calm--_

"OH MY GOD!"

Lorraine was lying in front of her in a pool of blood, her face twisted into a mask of terror. One arm was outstretched, as if to grab at Clara's legs. And, sitting casually at the breakfast bar, swinging a bloody leg, was Doc. He smiled at her. "Hello, Clara dear."


	5. The Changing of Times

Chapter 5

Thursday, July 17th

11: 36 A. M.

Clara shivered as they turned onto their street. She still couldn't believe that Doc had made it to the McFly house before her. He had explained that he'd driven over while forcing her over, but she couldn't understand where he'd gotten a car. It reminded her far too much of one of those horror movies Marty had told her about.

Doc smiled. He had the point of the knife jammed into her ribs and was animatedly talking with Marty. "I'm going to kill her right where you died, Marty. I'll make her kneel over the counter and slit her throat. Then I'll get on the trail of the little freaks." He turned his attention to Clara. "You wouldn't happen to know where our adorable little boys are, would you?" he asked sweetly. 

"No," Clara said firmly. "Lorraine took them, and that was the last I saw of them."

"Liar." He jabbed her with the knife, giggling as she squealed. "But it doesn't matter. I'll find them. Only one of those bastards left -- George. He probably has them." Doc sighed happily. "I'll get them all in one go."

Clara blinked. "Only _one_ McFly left?" she whispered.

"You'll see." He grinned insanely as their home came into view. "Ah, home sweet home. Park here and come inside, my dear."

"Emmett, please--" Clara began desperately.

Doc jabbed her with the knife again. "Don't even _think_ of arguing with me, bitch. Park."

Shaking, Clara obeyed. Doc yanked her roughly out of the car, holding the knife to her throat now. Kicking open the front door, he forced her head down. "There, bitch. Look at what happens to those who betray Marty."

Clara burst into tears as she saw Dave and Linda's bloody bodies. She could barely believe all this was happening. "Why, Emmett?" she begged. "They were Marty's _family_! What on earth could you have against Marty's family?!"

"They weren't Marty's family. Marty's family wouldn't have tried to help his murderess. This is all your fault. Everything here is your fault."

"Please, Emmett, don't say that," Clara wept. "I know Marty and I fought a lot, but don't say that all this death is my fault. It'll kill me."

"Then why keep it hidden? I'm going to kill you anyway." He dragged her into the kitchen, past Einstein's bloody body. "Kneel," he growled, forcing her down. Grabbing her hair, he pulled her head back and exposed the tender flesh of her throat. He extracted his bloody blade from his pocket and looked at it. He gently rubbed the blood onto his fingers and drew a red line across her neck. Clara gagged.

Doc smiled. "It's all for you, Futureboy," he said, swinging the knife down toward the line.

In the seconds when the knife was falling, Clara thought of a way to save her life, if only for the moment. She quickly yanked her head forward, putting her hair as opposed to her neck in the path of the blade.

Her plan worked better than she had thought it would. She yanked her head so far forward, the knife not only sliced through her hair but bit into Doc's fingers. With a yowl of pain, Doc let her go and briefly took his attention off her.

It was all the time Clara needed. She elbowed Doc hard in the stomach and made another run for it. Doc fell against the counter, cursing his luck. _Who has got it in for me? Why won't whoever it is let me appease Marty?_

_Don't worry about that, you fucker!_ Marty's voice shouted at him. _GO AFTER HER!_

As Doc began his pursuit, Clara flew out the door. She slammed it shut and pulled the nearby log seat she and Doc used to look at the stars in front it. Having bought herself a few minutes, she hastily reviewed her options. She couldn't stay, obviously. And she could no longer use the van as an escape -- Doc would simply track her down again, probably in Dave's car. Or go after Jules and Verne instead. Those same cons disqualified hiding in Hill Valley.

Her gaze wandered toward the garage. Immediately the image of the time train flashed into her mind. _Of course! I can go invisibly to Grass Valley to pick up Jules, Verne, and George, then escape into time! Thank God for Emmett's inventiveness -- and the fact it'll take him _forever_ to build another machine without help!_ Relieved, she made a beeline to the doors.

Inside, Doc had found the front door blocked. Ever resourceful, he used a foot stool to smash out a window. As he climbed out, he spotted Clara running pell-mell for the garage. _Now what could she possibly want in there, the murderous hussy?_

Then it came to him. _The TIME MACHINE! She wants to kill Marty twice!_ This new terror only added to his insanity, and he redoubled his efforts to catch her. "I won't let you do it, bitch!"

Clara flew into the garage and yanked open the trapdoor that led to the time train. She almost fell down the stairs in her haste. The train sat patiently in its tunnel, ready and willing to take a driver. Clara ran up to it, kissed its glossy black finish, and got in the cab.

As she pulled the starting lever, Doc appeared at the bottom of the stairs, breathing heavily. Clara quickly threw a few more logs into the fire to get the train moving more quickly. Slowly, ponderously, the time train started rolling down the tunnel Doc had made especially for it.

The scientist climbed aboard the single car, knife at the ready. "There's no escape now, bitch!" he yelled up to her.

Clara ignored him for the moment, shoving in more wood. Sometime during her run for freedom, her attitude toward Doc had changed to "kill or be killed." She grabbed the poker from the fire and stuck her head out the window. "Come and get me!" she yelled back, waving it threateningly.

Doc just laughed manically. "Like that will protect you from the extent of my wrath, coupled with Marty's! Prepare to be destroyed, bitch!"

Clara quickly shut and locked the door to the cab. She checked the speed of the train, then found the button to turn the train invisible. She pressed it as she heard Doc pounding on the door. "Open up and meet your doom!"

"You'll have to break it down!"

She found that those were a poor choice of words. Doc managed to break the lock and open the door. He knocked her down, wildly swinging his knife. "DIE, BITCH!"

Clara blocked his swing with the poker, snarling at him. They began to battle, sparks flying as metal hit metal. Doc backed Clara back up against the time circuit panels, forcing her against the keys. Unbeknownst to either of them, she turned them on and began to enter various dates as she struggled against him.

The train steamed on, gathering speed. Just before it entered Clayton Ravine, Clara saw the danger and managed to activate the hover conversion. The train rocketed out of the tunnel, the speedometer now in the 80s.

85. . . . Doc succeeded in slashing Clara's shoulder.

86. . . . Clara smacked Doc over the head with her poker.

87. . . . Doc fell to the floor, semi-conscious.

_88. . . ._


	6. The Evil Comes Forth

Chapter 6

Sunday, July 6th, 1986

Hill Valley

12: 04 P. M.

Clara, exhausted, saw that the train was on a collision course with the side of the canyon. She yanked on the brake and nervously landed the train. Doc, very dizzy, tried to pull himself back up, holding his knife tightly. "Stand still," he snapped, waving the blade around without plan.

Clara poked him away and lifted the poker above her head. She swung it down, catching him right on top of the head. Doc collapsed, some blood starting to run from his scalp. Clara hit him again, then fled the train, hoping that he was too injured to come after her.

She sighed as she found a route to the top of the ravine. _Why couldn't I just kill him?_ she wondered. _Why did I leave him there?_ A moment later, she answered herself with, _Because I still love him, somehow. I can't kill him, no matter if it means my own life. But I need help. I really need help._

She pulled herself up over the side and walked to the road. A friendly motorist pulled up beside her. "Hey there, Mrs. Brown. You look exhausted. Do you need a ride?"

By now, Clara was running on automatic. "Sure." She got inside. 

"Where to?"

Without thinking, she said, "Please, just take me home."

Sunday, July 6th

12: 08 P. M.

Doc finally regained his full senses. "How could one man have such terrible luck?" he complained, rubbing his head. "I'm extremely sorry for failing you, Marty."

_"Sorry" ain't good enough._

"I know, I know. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Look, I can use the time machine to get those two little brats."

_I don't give a shit about Jules and Verne. I give a shit about Clara. I want you to KILL HER. Why can't you do anything right for me?_

"I'm so, so sorry Marty. Tell me what to do. I'm helpless without you."

_Obviously. Go after her and kill her, you moron. In fact, why don't you cut yourself up a little for being so stupid?_

"Okay." Doc carved a few shallow cuts into his arms. "Is that okay?"

_Yes. Now GO GET THAT BITCH._

"Sure thing, Marty. She'll be dead by sunset."

Sunday, July 6th

1: 09 P. M.

Clara thanked the motorist as they reached her house. She weakly got out of the car and headed up to the door. She didn't know _why_ she had decided to go back home. It had been an instinctive reaction. At least the psychopathic Doc wouldn't be waiting for her there. She hoped. Vaguely wondering what time she had traveled to, she fell against the front door.

In the kitchen, Marty and Doc were finishing up a rather wimpy shoving match when they both heard a loud, abrupt thud. Doc paused just as he was about to push his friend. "What was that?"

Marty shrugged. "You expecting company, Doc?"

Doc shook his head. "I'd better see who it is." He started for the door, but stepped in the spilled puddle of milk and slipped. In an almost cartoonish fashion, his lower body fell backward while his upper body fell sideways. Marty, startled, managed to catch him before his head could strike the stone counter. "You okay?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah, fine," Doc said, regaining his footing. "We must have knocked over my glass during our match." He grabbed a dishtowel and wiped it up. "Good thing you caught me. My reflexes apparently aren't as fast as I thought they were."

"Like I'm going to let anything happen to you now that you've survived the Libyans, Biff, and Buford," Marty scoffed, although his face betrayed that he was still worried. "You'd better get the door before _Clara_ says anything."

"Could you say her name a little less sarcastically, please? I know you're mad, but I'm the one who lives with her." Doc finally got around to answering the door, Marty trailing behind him.

In the doorway, Clara briefly wanted to scream. Then she remembered that this wasn't her insane husband. This was Doc, loving and sane. She collapsed into his arms, embracing him tightly. "Oh, Emmett. . . ."

"Clara!" Doc gasped, completely astonished. "Clarabelle, what happened to you? You're a mess! I thought you were downstairs with the laundry."

Seeing what a mess she was, Marty briefly forgot he was angry with her. "Hey, are you okay?"

Clara's head snapped up. Hearing Marty's voice gave her a severe jolt. She looked over Doc's shoulder to find him standing there, frowning. "Marty. . . . What are you doing here?" she blurted.

Marty's face darkened as the anger rushed back. "Jesus, Clara, I can't even feel sorry for you?" he snapped, misinterpreting her tone.

"Marty," Doc began sternly.

Marty held up his hands. "Don't worry, Doc, I'm taking a hike. Make sure she stays upright." He pushed his way past them and was out the door.

Clara stared after him nervously. Part of her wanted to yell after him to come back, but instead she turned to Doc. "Emmett, I--"

"Emmett?"

Doc's head swivelled back and forth so fast, Clara thought it might spin completely around. Standing behind him was a second Clara, holding a box of detergent. "Great Scott!"

Clara stared in shock at her other self. Suddenly all her husband had said about meeting other selves made a lot of sense. She quickly redirected her attention to the floor.

Doc stared at both his wives for a moment, then lifted Clara's head. "Where -- when are you from?" he asked quietly.

"The future," Clara confessed. "I don't know how long."

The detergent Clara (Clara 2) hazarded a look at "herself." "It looks like an especially trying future."

"You don't know the half of it."

Sunday, July 6th

1: 13 P. M.

Marty stomped away from Doc's house, a mixture of anger and worry swirling in him. He was still extremely pissed at Doc's wife, to be sure. But now he was worried too. Over the past months, he'd seen her a lot of different ways, but never that bedraggled and afraid. And there was something about the way she'd looked at him --

"Marty."

Startled out of his thoughts, Marty spun around. Doc was standing behind him, suddenly looking almost as exhausted as Clara had. Doc was looking at him very oddly -- like Marty was the Messiah, or even God himself. "Marty, it's wonderful to see you again," he whispered, almost worshipfully.

Marty stared at him, confused. "I just talked to you two seconds ago, Doc," he pointed out.

"Oh, I know, I know," Doc agreed, smiling. Something about that smile raised the hair on the back of Marty's neck. It didn't seem -- right. Normal. "But I haven't seen you in so long. I must be doing good, huh?"

Marty wasn't sure to say in reply. Doc looked like a puppy awaiting a kind word from his master. "If you think you're doing well," he finally said.

"I do, I do!" Doc's grin became even creepier. "Look at all I've done for you already!" He flung open his black coat.

Marty stumbled backward, eyes growing wide with horror. Blood covered practically all of Doc's clothes. And now that he looked closer, he could see traces of blood on Doc's face and in his hair. In fact, one whole section in the back had gone red. "Holy _shit_!" he gasped.

Doc nodded. "All for you," he said, actually _giggling_ a little. "Anyone who spoke ill about you or attempted to aid that bitch who hurt you."

"That's -- that's not--"

"David's, Linda's, Lorraine's, and Einstein's. I know you didn't have any complaints about the dog, but I wanted to make sure I could kill efficiently."

The teen felt his heart abruptly stop. His family -- dead? It couldn't be!! And Doc admitting that he'd killed them??? _What sort of sick, twisted nightmare is this?_ "You killed my family?" he squeaked.

Doc frowned, obviously puzzled by Marty's reaction. "Marty, they wanted to help _Clara_." He said the name like it was a slimy thing. "Or did you want to me to kill her before them? She was so damn fast, I--"

"I don't want you to kill anybody!" Marty exploded. "Clara and I have some problems, but she's your wife! And my family too?! What kind of a psychopath are you? I'm callin' the cops!"

Doc stared at him a moment. Then his face grew stormy. "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE WITH MARTY?!" he roared, grabbing the teen roughly by the throat and lifting him off the ground. "_ANSWER ME!_"

"Doc. . . ." Marty struggled for breath. "You're hurting me. . . ."

"Don't call me Doc. Only Marty can call me that, you impostor. You charlatan." He threw Marty to the ground. "Did that Clara bitch send you to torment me?"

Marty looked up at Doc, terrified. "Doc, I -- I am Marty."

"Liar," Doc hissed, kicking him. He whipped out the knife. "I should kill you as you lie on the ground like the dog you are."

Doc suddenly looked up. "What's that, Marty?" The perverse smiled reappeared. "How wonderfully ironic. I'll do it right now." He hauled Marty, who was trying to escape, roughly to his feet and put the knife to his throat. "I'm going to kill you where my _real_ Marty was killed. Then Clara can kneel in your blood as she awaits her fate."

Marty was shaking. _Wake up, McFly, wake up. This is all a dream. Just a very intense dream._ "Doc -- Doc, please don't kill me," he begged.

"Shut up and march."

Sunday, July 6th

1: 20 P. M.

Clara 2 looked Clara over, now that she was on the window seat. "What happened to your shoulder?" she asked, sending Doc to grab a towel.

"Someone tried to kill me," Clara said, wondering how she could break the news about Doc.

Doc's eyes narrowed, a surge of anger going through his body. "Who?" he growled.

Before Clara could say anything, the door was kicked open. She sprang from her seat as her Doc (Psycho-Doc) dragged Marty in. "Why, hello, Cla--"

He abruptly noticed that, not only were there two Claras, but also another him. "--ra," he finished, baffled. "Now what the hell's going on here?"

Clara's eyes went wide as she beheld the knife at Marty's throat. _For God's sake, I thought I had him figured out!_ "Emmett?"

Psycho-Doc snarled at her, resembling a vicious dog. "Where'd you find him?" he snapped, shaking Marty roughly. "It's an uncanny resemblance, but it wasn't enough to fool me!"

Marty stared ahead. "Doc?" he squeaked, his mind beginning to spin.

Doc didn't hear. He was gazing in horror at his insane twin. "What in the name of Sir Issac H. Newton--"

"He's lost his mind," Clara gasped, clinging to Doc's arm in terror. "He's killed three people already! He was the one who was going to kill me!"

"I'm only acting in the _real_ Marty's best interests," Psycho-Doc replied, kicking Marty. "Which includes getting revenge on you, you murderous bitch."

Clara 2 made a slight move near Psycho-Doc, as if to get near Marty and help him. Psycho-Doc increased the pressure on Marty's throat. "One step closer, and I slit his throat from ear to ear."

Marty begged Doc with his eyes to do something. _Please, help me, Doc. Don't let me die. I'm so scared. . . ._

Doc got his bearings. "Let him go," he demanded impressively.

"Give me that bitch Clara and I will. Or, at least, I'll consider it." He idly rolled the handle between his fingers. Beads of blood appeared on Marty's throat as the blade nibbled his flesh. "My real Marty may not want me to make the trade."

"Don't you dare call Clara a bitch," Doc snarled, very glad his children were at a friend's today and didn't have to see this. "And don't you dare threaten my best friend."

"That's what she is," Psycho-Doc said, face flushing red. "She hates Marty. That's why she fought with him. That's why she _killed_ him. So I would only have her, and those two bratty kids!" He grabbed Marty tightly by the throat as he gestured with the knife. "If you hadn't hurt his feelings, he would have never died!"

Clara 2 and Doc stared at Clara in shock. "What on earth is he talking about? Marty -- Marty didn't--"

Clara shook her head, shivering with the memory. "Something happened to make Marty slip, and he -- broke his neck on our counter," she choked out, leaning on Doc's shoulder.

Psycho-Doc got more passionate, waving the knife wildly. "That's right! And you're responsible! If it wasn't for you, we would have never argued! We would have never had that stupid fight! And I -- I--"

A change came over Psycho-Doc's face. The look of fury slowly transformed into one of inner torment. Unknowingly his grip on Marty lessened. "Oh, God," he cried. "I never would have done it. . . ."

Clara was afraid to ask. "Done what?" she whispered. "He just slipped."

"_I PUSHED HIM!_"

He released Marty and collapsed into a sobbing heap. The teen ran for safety behind Doc. "It was the stupidest thing you could think of. He challenged me to a shoving fight, and I accepted. I just wanted to give him one last push, to get in the last word. I didn't even see the milk until it was too late. It all happened so fast. . . ."

Clara saw Doc and Marty exchange a stunned glance, both their faces white. "What?"

"That's almost what happened to us," Doc whispered, horrified.

"It was _today_?" She put a hand to her mouth. "And I stopped it." She smiled a little. "When I came here, I stopped it."

She didn't have long to feel good about her accomplishment. Psycho-Doc had another mood swing and became enraged again. "But it was still all your fault!" he shrieked wildly, scrabbling to his feet. "And the rest of you are helping her! Now you're all going to die!"

He charged toward the group, swinging the knife. Doc, Marty, and both Claras tried to get out of the way, but Psycho-Doc was too fast. He grabbed Clara 2, slammed her to the ground, and raised the knife. Marty quickly shoved him off-balance, toward the door to the laundry-room stairs. Psycho-Doc slashed at Marty, missing only by the fraction of an inch. Doc took over and lunged at his other self, trying to get the knife from his grasp. They went down in a heap, scrabbling at each other. The Claras and Marty tried to help, but were afraid to get too close.

Psycho-Doc slashed Doc's shirt to shreds as he pulled out of his twin's grip. He laughed maniacally, almost like a bad movie villain. "See! Marty's helping me!" he sing-songed, backing up into the doorway. "You're all gonna die."

Just then, Einstein ran in, attracted by all the nosie. He trotted over to Doc and whined. "Get out of here, Einy," he whispered, getting to his feet. 

Psycho-Doc giggled. "Here, Einstein, here boy," he called to the dog.

Einstein looked at his other master in puzzlement, then raced at him, snarling a little. He jumped up on Psycho-Doc, snapping. Psycho-Doc was thrown off-balance, tried to correct, and failed.

Before anyone could react, he and Einstein had fallen down the stairs.


	7. The Return Home

Chapter 7

Sunday, July 6th

1: 29 P. M.

Nobody wanted to do it, so they all decided to do it together. It had to be done, especially before the kids got home. Doc, Marty, and the two Claras went to the doorway, frightened of what they would find. They saw Psycho-Doc lying in a bloody heap, and Einstein slowly trying to climb back up, whimpering. "Einstein," Doc said, jogging down and picking him up. "Einy, you probably saved our lives." Einstein licked Doc's chin, bruises showing under his fur and one paw bent at an angle.

"How on earth did he survive?" Marty asked, scratching the dog's head.

"He – had a cushion," Doc explained, averting his eyes from the body at the foot of the stairs. "Plus he fell differently. I would say my other self broke his neck." He shivered. "We'll have to dispose of the body."

Clara 2 was shaking her head. "I can't believe this. . . ." She looked over at Marty. "I never realized how much Emmett must care for you before now."

Marty didn't meet her eyes. "I feel like a heel," he mumbled.

"It wasn't your fault," Doc said firmly. "Or yours," he added, seeing Clara about to speak up. "The blame rest solely on that sick future version of myself. If I'd talked about--" His voice faltered briefly. "If I'd talked about the accident, admitted my role in it, this might never have happened." For a moment, he still seemed firmly in control, then his facade crumbled away. "I -- I nearly killed the two people I love the most," he wept, sitting heavily on a step. "The Train Incident seems like child's play compared to this. I can hardly believe I'm capable of such cold-hearted cruelty."

Marty and Clara 2 sat down beside him , trying to comfort him. Doc pulled them both into a tight hug. "I love you both so much."

"We know, honey, we know." Clara 2 looked at Marty, her own eyes beginning to fill with tears. "Marty, I'm so sorry for all of those fights."

"Me too," Marty said, slipping his arm around her. "I should try to remember you're new to this century more often."

"And I should try to remember you know this one quite well and can keep us out of trouble."

Clara smiled -- her first true one in days. "Now _that's_ what I wanted us to have," she murmured.

Marty slipped out of the clutch and gave her a hug as well. "Thanks. You probably saved my life today at least twice."

"I was glad to do it." She glanced unwillingly at the bottom of the stairs. "Do -- do you really think--"

"He's dead?" Doc finished for her, his voice raspy. "I would have to say yes. If the fall didn't kill him, it's quite possible he accidentally stabbed himself with the knife."

Clara sighed wearily. "I'm relieved, but I have to admit, I'm sad too. I didn't want him to die. I still loved him, in a way. Loved who he used to be."

Marty patted her on the back. "Well, at least now you won't have to go through all that."

This statement caused a new worry to pop into Clara's mind. "That's right. I just altered the past. Couldn't that cause a paradox, like you're always talking about?"

"Maybe. But Marty altered the past, and he survived intact. I have some theories, but I doubt you want to hear them."

Clara hazarded another glance down. "Actually, keep talking. It'll keep my mind off what we're doing."

As grateful for a distraction as her, Doc launched into a summary. "I'm sure you all know what a paradox is -- when you alter the past in such a way as to make the future you came from impossible. It can be described as a loop. When you cancel the cause, you cancel the effect, which often reinstates the cause, which reinstates the effect, which cancels the cause -- and so on and so on."

They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Pyscho-Doc's body was face-down, twisted strangely. His knife was sticking into him at an odd angle, and a sticky puddle of blood had spread out around him. Repulsed, everyone closed their eyes. Doc began talking faster. "Now, the one truly logical explanation I've discovered for preventing these paradoxes is the memory-replacement theory."

"Memory replacement?" Clara 2 asked as she fetched a large bag she could sacrifice.

"Ask Marty. He retains the memories he has of the very first time-line. The memory-replacement theory states he kept those memories to ensure that a paradox would not occur. It works like this -- Marty lives through the original time-line. Then he went back in time and altered the present. When his new self--"

"My new self?" Marty repeated, puzzled.

"The slightly-younger self you told me you saw at the mall," Doc clarified for him. "When he went to 1955, the dimmed memories came to the forefront. They replaced the memories he had of the time-line that now was." He shook his head. "I'm explaining this badly, aren't I?"

Clara frowned. "I think I understand. You're saying that I'm going to remember everything that happened, so I can go back in time and stop it from happening again."

"My head's spinning," Marty complained. "You guys aren't making any sense."

"That's because you have a problem thinking fourth-dimensionally," Doc told him. "It's also very hard to describe in words. I wouldn't worry too much about it, kid. I say that Clara probably won't end up destroying the space-time continuum by doing this. And if she does, we'll figure out a way to fix it."

Clara 2 shivered slightly as she looked at the bag they had loaded the body into. "That may be all well and good, but what's going to happen to _him_?"

"I'm going to drop it off in a secluded place and time. I also need to get some medical attention for Marty and Einstein. His parents would never let him come over again if we sent him home like that."

Clara felt the tears come back to her eyes. "Marty, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Clara," Marty reassured her. "I'll be fine."

"And when we get back, I think we should all have a discussion. I apparently didn't know the magnitude of your problems together, and I don't want anything like this happening again."

"I should be getting home too," Clara said wearily. "Now that we've settled everything, and I know I won't be returning home to a killer."

"You could stay a little while," Clara 2 offered. "You look exhausted."

"I know, but I have to make sure everything's all right again in the future. Part of me is terrified he'll still be there, and part of me is terrified I caused a paradox."

"Then at least let us give you a ride back to the train," Doc insisted. "Where did you leave it?"

"Right where we landed -- invisible in Eastwood Ravine." 

"Perfect. We'll leave straightaway."

Thursday, July 17th, 1986

Hill Valley

12: 00 P. M.

Clara guided the train back under the garage. As its sounds died down, she heard laughter from up above. She followed the laughter upstairs and out into the yard. Marty was playing with Jules and Verne, mock-wrestling them. They were all laughing and shrieking happily.

Marty abruptly looked up and saw Clara. His bright smile faded. "Hey, Clara," he said softly, almost shyly.

"Come play, Mama!" Verne giggled. Then he got a better look at his mother's face. "Mama, you okay?"

Clara smiled. "Oh, yes, more than okay." She leaned down and gathered them all, including Marty, into her arms. "Having fun?" Jules and Verne nodded rapidly. "How about you Marty? Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Dave's in line for a promotion, and Linda thinks Greg might be ready to propose." His smile returned. "Mom and Dad are talking to Doc about hosting a barbeque. You're gonna help, right? 'Cause those ribs you made a few nights ago were great."

"I'll do whatever I can," Clara said, squeezing him tighter for a moment. Doc was right, she decided -- Marty did give wonderful hugs. "I'll let you get back to your game. Be careful now."

"Yes, ma'am," Marty saluted. They all laughed. Clara proceeded into the house, already in a much lighter mood.

She found Doc, Lorraine, and George in the kitchen, chatting happily. "Ah, there's my Clarabelle," Doc smiled, holding out his arms. She fell into them, cherishing the loving warmth that enveloped her.

Lorraine frowned as she looked Clara over. "Clara, you look terrible. Are you okay?"

_Now that you're alive again, I am,_ Clara thought. Out loud, she said, "I had some nightmares last night. Nothing serious." Doc briefly tightened his hold, much in the same way she had with Marty.

"You feel up to helping with our barbeque?" George asked politely. "It wouldn't be the same without all of you there."

"I'd love to."

"Myself included," Doc said. He slid open the utensil drawer and reached for the butcher knife. "I can make some steaks."

Clara caught his wrist before he could touch anything. "I don't think you need to demonstrate," she told him, trying to keep the panic from her voice. Abashed, Doc withdrew his hand.

After a few more minutes of idle chat, the McFlys left. Doc promptly pulled Clara close and apologized. "Deepest apologies, my love. I wasn't thinking when I did that. Oh, Clara, I love you so much." He kissed her passionately.

"I love you too," Clara murmured, leaning against him. "But let_ me_ do the cooking for that barbeque. I don't want to see you with a butcher knife again for a long, long time."

The End


End file.
